


Uncaged

by the_original_n_chan



Category: Leverage
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eliot Spencer Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Pre-OT3, Shapeshifting, Shifter AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:41:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23360353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_original_n_chan/pseuds/the_original_n_chan
Summary: Eliot gets lost in the wolf. Parker and Hardison bring him back to himself—and to them.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 15
Kudos: 179
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	Uncaged

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaraJade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaraJade/gifts).



> This was my contribution to the [2020 Fandom Trumps Hate](https://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com/) charity auction. The request was for Eliot-centric, either no pairing or E/P/H, angst, h/c, Eliot whump, happy ending, and possibly shifterverse, so I think I hit all the beats. ^_^ MaraJade, I hope you like it!
> 
> FYI, I tagged this as Multi, but it could also be read as Gen, as the relationship is not-so-sub subtext at this point. (Parker and Hardison are laying it down, but Eliot hasn't picked it up yet.)
> 
> Many thanks to Silence89 for beta-reading!

Hunger had its teeth in him, biting deep and gnawing. He hunkered in the corner of the stinking cage, nursing his strength and his rage as he watched the door. Sometime—no knowing when—one of those men would come, throw him some scraps, just enough to keep life in him, splash some water in the bucket. One would taunt him; the other was quiet. He hated them both. The loud one used to poke him with a stick, jeering as he snarled and bit furiously at it. That stopped when he gave up reacting, instead curling up with his back to the man and ignoring it.

Sometime the cage would fail. When it did, he’d tear that man’s throat out.

The hatred in him wanted to pace; he stood and stalked the few strides the cage allowed him, one way and then the other. His legs trembled, weak when they should be strong. Some part of him remembered that he should rest, conserve energy, and he went back to his corner.

Through the reek of shit and piss, he suddenly smelled something...different. Something alive—and there was a clang on top of the cage that startled him into ducking low. Movement above him—life—small animal—rabbit— _food_ —and he lunged upward, smashing his face against the bars as he tried to shove his muzzle between them and bite.

The rabbit didn’t run. Instead it raked its claws across his nose, and he recoiled in surprise as much as at the sting of pain. It thumped a back foot against the bars warningly. Baffled, he tracked it as it picked its way, careful but sure, to the edge of the cage and jumped to the floor. Where it— _changed_.

There was a human crouching in front of him. A woman. Naked. Her ears were still a rabbit’s, though, and they were laid back in distress. Her fluffy tail twitched as she stared at him.

“ _Eliot_ ,” she said.

That was...him.

With that understanding, everything wasn’t just bad—it was _wrong_. But he couldn’t...he didn’t... _what_ was wrong escaped him, and it made the wrongness worse. He found himself panting with anxiety.

“Eliot,” the woman said again, reaching toward him, and he growled when her hands came near. He couldn’t help it.

She drew back. “Eliot, you’re in there, right? You _know_ me.”

Her withdrawal hurt, nearly as bad as the hunger, and he whimpered, pressed himself against the side of the cage. She slid her arms in through the bars and hugged him, curling her fingers into his fur despite the filth caked in it, her face as close to his as the cage allowed, and there was no urge at all to bite, only relief and a desperate gladness.

“Can you change back?” she asked. He didn’t understand what she meant, and after a moment she just squeezed him again and said, “I’m going to get you out of here. Just hold on.”

Letting go, she backed away, and as she moved toward the door, a bark-howl of protest and warning escaped him.

“Shh!” She put a finger to her mouth.

Whining softly, he paced the front of the cage, his eyes never leaving her. She opened the door a crack and peeked outside, then started a quick search of the room. Hurrying back to him at last, she thrust two small pieces of metal into the lock and started wiggling them around. “There are cars parked just outside the shed,” she murmured as she worked. “We’re going to take one of them and get out of here.” Her ear flicked nervously, turning toward the door and then away. “You just have to follow me to the car, okay?”

With a quiet click-clang, the cage door unlocked, and as she opened it, he slithered out to freedom. She grabbed hold of his fur before he could bound away, keeping him by her side. “C’mon!” she whispered, tugging him along with her.

They’d just reached the door when a familiar sound and scent came to him, and he growled. Her ears pricked forward, quivering, probably hearing the same thing: heavy footsteps, breathing, steadily coming closer.

“Damn it!” She dragged him up against the wall to one side of the door and crouched there, holding him close. He growled again, and she clamped her hand over his muzzle.

“ _Shh!_ ” She pressed him to the ground. “ _Stay!_ ”

The door opened, and the quiet man came in. He shivered with the furious need to attack, but the woman moved first, sliding silently up behind the man as he came to a stop, staring at the open cage. The man started to turn around, his mouth opening to shout, and she swung a metal bar at his head with all her strength. It made a meaty thunk, and the man fell to the ground and lay there motionless.

_Nice_. His tongue lolled out in satisfaction.

“Let’s go!” she said, starting for the door again.

“ _Wellll_ , what’ve we got here?”

He knew that voice, and hatred surged up in him. He crept up to the edge of the doorway, every muscle coiled, ready to lunge. The loud man was looking at the woman with a nasty smile. He didn’t seem to notice that he was being watched from the shadows.

“We’ve got us a li’l naked bunny girl. You’re here looking for our wolf, huh? He your boyfriend?” The man let out a grunting laugh.

The woman tensed, her grip on the bar shifting, and the man pulled out a smaller, blocky metal thing. He held it pointing at her. “You put that down, bunny rabbit, and come on out here. And if you’re a good girl, I’ll show you what it’s really like to get eaten all up. _Growf!_ ”

His eyes were locked to the thing in the man’s hand. He knew it. It was bad. It was death.

_A gun_.

And it was aimed at his...at his....

_Parker_.

He launched himself out of the shed. The man spun to face him with a shout that was broken off as he slammed into the man’s chest, hurling them both to the ground. There was a deafening sound—something hit him as he scrabbled on top of the writhing man. He got a grip on the arm that held the gun and bit down hard. The man screamed and thrashed as he worried at the flesh, snarling. The other arm flailed at him, hitting him across the face. He jerked away, ripping a chunk out of the man as he pulled back. He gathered himself to spring again, but his heart was pounding strangely. All his muscles felt watery weak, his left front leg most of all. The man kicked at him, and the stinging pain in his chest bloomed into agony. He staggered and fell. But he had to get up, _he had to—_

That thundercrack of sound again, and the man stopped moving, his cries going silent as he fell limp. The woman, Parker, stood above them, the gun in her hands. She separated it into two parts and threw them away before crouching over him. “Eliot! Shit—he got you. He _shot_ you! We have to go. Now!”

She pulled at him, and somehow he heaved himself to his feet. Blood was running down his front, matting his fur. She half led, half dragged him to one of the cars, opened a back door and hauled him inside as he scrambled clumsily against the seat, trying to help. As she fastened straps over him, she whispered, “See? Seatbelts. I hope you’re happy.” Shutting the door, she threw herself into the front seat, and the car rumbled to life.

Everything started to blur then. Pain and fast, lurching movement, shifting light and darkness. He was half aware when the movement stopped and the door opened.

“Parker, what—you’ve been, you’ve been driving around _naked_? And your ears—”

“Eliot’s stuck! And they shot him. We need to get him somewhere safe.”

“He’s stuck? Oh...oh. _El_.” Other hands touched him, careful, gentle, warm as they stroked his fur.

“Lift!” Parker commanded, and the stroking stopped as the two of them moved him from the car to another one. A van. It smelled familiar. _Good. Home_. He was laid on the floor, and a few moments later, Parker sat down next to him, shifting his head into her lap. She pressed a cloth against the fire in his chest, and he whined.

“Shh. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. I’m just stopping the bleeding. Hardison—”

“We’re going.” Silence for a while as the van started moving, as its speed increased smoothly. Then: “Dang. I didn’t even _know_ he was a changer. Did you?”

“No. But I’m not surprised.”

“How long...do you think he’s been a wolf the whole time since they took him? Almost _two weeks_? Can...can somebody even come back from that?”

“Eliot will!” Parker bent lower over him. “You will, right?” she said more softly, her breath stirring the fur by his ear. “You’re the strongest person I know. If anybody can come back, you can.”

He was confused, hurting, and things were still wrong, but in another way they were _right_. Parker and...and... _Alec_. They were with him. He trusted them. And he let himself slip into a doze as the world rolled by outside.

He came back to vague consciousness at the sound of the van door opening, the murmur of voices. He was lifted again, carried, laid down on a soft surface. Familiar hands petted him, smoothed his fur. A familiar voice spoke, low but threaded with an underlayer of tension.

“Eliot. Listen to me, man. You gotta change back, okay?” Those hands cupped his face, shook it lightly. “Hey. Hey. Look at me.” Dragging his eyes open, he wrinkled his muzzle at the man. “Yeah. That’s it.” The man’s thumbs stroked his cheeks, and his eyelids started to droop again.

“Keep looking,” the man insisted. Dark eyes held his, demanding he return their gaze; the direct stare made him uncomfortable, and he groaned in protest. “You can do this. You are goddamn _Eliot Spencer_ , international criminal, certified badass, hitter for the unbeatable Leverage crew. You like beer and sports and cooking and yelling at people. And punching. How you gonna punch things without hands, huh?” His voice wavered, then steadied, though it still held a faint whine of distress. “C’mon, man. At least _try_. Are you trying? I can’t tell if you’re trying. Parker—”

Slim, strong fingers knotted in his back fur. “You’re our Eliot,” Parker said tremulously. “We need you. We need you to be human again. Change back.”

“Do it for us,” the man added softly. “Do it for Parker. And for me.”

Parker. And Hardison. He wanted to do what they wanted. He wanted to make them stop being sad. But he didn’t know...he didn’t understand....

_C’mon, man_.

Hardison’s hand curled around the back of his neck, cradling his head. Parker’s face was pressed against his shoulder; the fur there was growing damp.

_Change back._

_We need you._

_We need you to be..._

_...human._

_Human_. Like rushing up out of dark water toward air and light. Like fighting to breathe. He surged up against their arms; they gripped him hard as he struggled. _Run, fight, stay—_

_—change._

Sensation overwhelmed him. Glaring colors, the sudden absence of scents and sounds, shivery chill on every inch of skin except where Parker and Hardison were pressed against him. Pain stabbed through him, and he cried out, convulsing against their arms, growling when they didn’t let go.

“Eliot!” Parker’s voice sang out, full of joy and relief, and also a little sniffly. _Eliot_ , that was him. He was _Eliot_.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, it’s just us, you did it!” Hardison was babbling. Part of Eliot wanted to bite him, just a small nip so he’d stop _talking_ ; another part wanted to lean into him, to hold and be held, and he was so tired suddenly, so exhausted that he gave in to that part and let Hardison nuzzle against his head without even grumbling about it.

“Hey, you understand me, right?” Hardison asked, drawing back to look him in the face again. His thoughts were fractured and disjointed; he couldn’t find words, but he managed a jerky nod.

Hardison’s expression turned sober. “We gotta get the bullet out. Can you handle that?” Bullet. Gun. He’d been shot. Pieces falling into place. He nodded again.

Parker offered him a wad of cloth to bite down on, and that was a relief, to set his teeth in something. It steadied him, and the new burst of pain even more so— _pain_ he knew, and it gave him a focus. He breathed into it as Parker probed the wound with tweezers, finally letting himself slump with a grunt of relief when she deftly picked the bullet out—then tensed again, hissing at the sting as Hardison started cleaning and disinfecting the wound.

“Sorry,” Hardison murmured. He applied a dressing and taped it down. “We’re just gonna get the rest of you washed up, ’cause you stink like a port-a-potty. Then you can rest, okay?”

“…eh.” Last thing he wanted was to get up again, but he let them haul him to his feet. The room tilted around him, and he had to lean on their support as the three of them hobbled into the bathroom. Hardison turned on the sink; the sound of the water made him realize how thirsty he was, and he lunged for it, ducking his head to drink from the faucet. Hardison and Parker started arguing shower versus sponge bath, and—oh _hell_ no.

“Out,” he growled. They both looked at him; Parker was wearing Hardison’s jacket, which fell to mid-thigh on her, and he realized for the first time that he was naked. “ _Out._ ”

They eased out reluctantly, leaving the door half open, which— _fine_. He chose the shower, even though it would get the bandage wet, because he could sit on the floor and let the water sluice down on him while he dragged a washcloth over himself.

After that, things went vague. Hardison was there at some point, helping him to get up and dry off, then replacing the dressing. He stumbled into the bedroom; Parker held some pills out to him, and he licked them off her palm, grimacing at the taste, then resisted Hardison’s attempt to give him water, grabbing it away from him instead, because he could use a, a, a _cup_ by himself, dammit. Next thing he knew, he was falling onto a yielding surface— _bed_ —covers were being pulled up over him, but he was already fading. As he let sleep take him, his last, barely conscious thoughts were _safe_ and _with them_ , and the relief that went along with that sure knowledge was so sweet as to be like joy.

Awareness came back to him gradually, and with it, three realizations. First, fucking hell, he _hurt_. Second, he was _starving_. And third, he was lying on a mattress instead of....

Opening his eyes, he stared up at the ceiling. It was painted white and dimly lit by muted daylight. No bars. At the memory of them, all the rest of it came pouring back, starkly clear despite being filtered through the wolf’s mind—drugged with something that had forced him to change, captured by a pair of lousy, two-bit bounty hunters who’d somehow found out his secret, kept caged, mired deep in rage and confusion, until some buyer coughed up the price on his head. He touched his chest, his arms, and heaved a sigh of relief at the confirmation that they were human. Lifting his head to survey his surroundings, he decided it was a motel room, generic, shabby, but reasonably clean. Parker was sitting cross legged on the dresser, watching him. He remembered her running around naked the night before, but she’d acquired pajamas from somewhere.

She also still had rabbit ears poking through her hair, a sight that made his stomach tighten with concern.

“Hi,” she said. The uncertainty in the word and the tentative smile that went along with it made her seem almost shy.

“Hey,” he rasped. He needed to drink to make up his blood loss, but he wasn’t ready to get up. He squinted at her, scowling. “Fix your damn ears.”

She shrugged. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’ll change them back the next time I go jumping. It’s easier then.”

“I’ll never understand how your mind works,” he muttered. He scrubbed his hands over his face, up into his hair, and then froze as he encountered his own ears. He felt over them, registering their upright shape, the soft covering of fur, then dropped his hands in disgust. “God _damn_ it.”

“Be glad you don’t have the tail,” Parker said. “It feels so _weird_ under clothes.”

“Shut up, Parker.” Closing his eyes, he tried to focus, to push the animal in him back, to lock it down again, but the experience was still too raw, too close, and he was exhausted in both body and mind, even after a night’s sleep. With an irritated huff, he gave up and took inventory of himself instead. His fingernails were clawlike, and when he ran his tongue over his teeth, there were distinct points.

“Your eyes are yellow too,” Parker said helpfully. When he glared at her, she just grinned.

“It’s not funny,” he growled. “I’m gonna have to wear hats all the time. And sunglasses.”

“So? You always wear hats.”

“Not because I _have_ to!” And there was no telling how long he’d need to, which was what most worried him. He forced down the anxious tension of being stuck partly changed. “And it’s not _always_ —”

The door opened, and he went on alert, but it was just Hardison. When he saw Eliot, his face lit up with so much relief that it made Eliot uncomfortable. “Hey, man, you’re looking _way_ better than last night.”

“He just noticed the ears,” Parker informed him. She moved over to Eliot’s bed, the mattress bouncing slightly as she jumped up to sit on it.

Hardison’s smile turned sly. “Yeah, I love those. They’re freakin’ _adorable_.”

“They are _not_ adorable.” Eliot flushed with wrathful embarrassment, said ears flattening, but he was distracted from his aggravation by the amazing aroma of egg, meat, and cheese, and his attention narrowed in on the bag in Hardison’s hand. He pushed himself up on his elbows. “What’ve you got?”

“Oh yeah, I picked up some breakfast for us.” Approaching the bed, Hardison pulled a little package out of the bag and inspected it before setting it aside. “I figured, since they weren’t hardly feeding you, we better start out easy, so I just got you some toast and—”

Eliot snorted. “Screw that. Give me one of those sandwiches.”

Hardison hesitated, looking concerned. “Are you sure? It ain’t gonna be too rich all at once?”

“You think I don’t know how to keep from making myself sick?” Sitting up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, careful to keep the covers across his lap, and stuck out his hand. “Gimme.”

With a sigh, Hardison passed him the sandwich. “You’re just lucky I got extras,” he muttered.

Eliot ignored him, focusing instead on the flavors flooding his mouth as he bit into his food. It was just a crappy convenience store breakfast sandwich, full of grease and salt and preservatives, but at the moment it was the best goddamn thing he’d ever eaten. He almost moaned in ecstasy. He made himself chew slowly, savoring each bite, until with a reluctant sigh he set the second half of the sandwich down, giving his stomach time to settle.

Hardison cleared his throat, signaling an end to the blissful silence, and Eliot set his jaw, already having a pretty good idea of what was to come. “So, uh. You’re a changer, huh?”

“Yeah. _So?_ ” Eliot bristled, fixing him with a challenging glare.

Sitting back quickly, Hardison raised his hands. “No, it’s, we’re all good. It’s cool, man.”

“It ain’t ‘ _cool_ ,’ Hardison,” he snarled. Useful, maybe, even pleasurable sometimes—the swiftness, the freedom, the simplicity of the animal mind, the _difference_ in the world—but not easy, and _never_ cool in any sense of the word, except in the minds of the ignorant.

He knew the statistics. They were etched into his brain, had been ever since he was a kid. At least 40 percent of changers slipped completely into the animal, usually either as children or in old age, and never came back from it. And that was _with_ medical interventions—drugs, counseling. Another 30 percent went through life with carryovers, mental or physical or both, that they couldn’t do anything about. An estimated 25 percent were latent, showing no signs of their nature and nearly impossible to identify without genetic testing.

Only 5 percent, maybe less, had full control over their changing. And even then, if they stayed too long in full animal form….

And the familiar anger (and the fear, always the fear behind it) twisted in his gut like a hot knife, because now that they knew, there was no going back. They’d always have the knowledge of what he was in the back of their minds, and nothing could be the same.

Changers were weird. Different. _Other_. They were flaky and unreliable, or vicious, or just plain stupid. They should be put in institutions, away from normal people, or in camps, or even deported (and never mind where they’d actually go). They were a sex fetish. They were of the Devil. They weren’t really human at all. And predators, those were the _worst_.

So fucking many prejudices. He was sick to death of it.

Grabbing one of the bottled waters that Hardison had also brought, he took a long swig, then reached for the rest of his sandwich.

It was gone.

What the… _goddamn it_. He whirled on Parker, who was sitting with her knees drawn up, munching away on his breakfast like a happy squirrel. “ _Parker!_ ”

“Nm?” She stuffed an escaping bit of cheese into her mouth, then rolled backward as he grabbed for her. He caught her by the ankle to keep her from getting away; as he dragged her back toward him, she kicked at him, laughing. While he was trying to block her flailing leg so he could get a better grip on her, she held the sandwich away from him at arm’s length. “Hardison!” she yelled, and Hardison swooped in, hooting with delight, grabbed the sandwich, and held it up out of both of their reaches.

Letting go of Parker, Eliot dug his fingers into Hardison’s vulnerable sides. Hardison shrieked, squirming, and when he dropped his arms to protect himself, Eliot snatched the sandwich back. He jammed the last bite-and-a-half into his mouth, chewing ferociously and glowering.

“What are you, _children_?” he snapped as soon as he could speak.

Hardison snickered, a little breathlessly. “Says the guy who was just wrestling naked over a sandwich,” he said, and Eliot realized the covers had slipped away from him at some point. He tugged them back over himself, scowling. Not that it really mattered, considering they’d already seen all of his everything the night before. His gunshot wound was reminding him of its existence, and he reclaimed his water, but then just sat holding the bottle, his energy exhausted along with his anger.

Hardison sat down next to him, shoulder brushing his. “It ain’t going to make any difference,” he said quietly. “You know that, right?” When Eliot didn’t answer, he pushed on, “I’ve known about Parker since Serbia; when have I ever treated her any different?”

“Parker’s Parker,” Eliot retorted. She’d been weird from the minute they’d met. More quietly he added, “You’d already fallen for her anyway.”

“And Sophie? You think I fell for her too? Aw, dang. My secret’s out.” Speaking past Eliot, he said, “Sorry, babe. How do you feel about threesomes?” Parker snerked, then hitched over to sit pressed up against Eliot’s other side.

“Look,” Hardison continued, “I don’t know what kind of complex you have about all of this, maybe something out of your deep, dark past, but to us you’re still the exact same guy. Still the same grumpy, growly Eliot that we know and love. So if you’re expecting us to judge you or whatever, well, you’re out of luck.”

He wanted to resist those calm, straightforward words, even though he knew with a dawning certainty, deep down at the heart of himself, that they were true. It just wasn’t a truth that he was used to hearing.

His daddy hadn’t believed in drugs. He’d believed in discipline. So did the army, which didn’t recruit changers—except when they _did_ , when you were one of the fraction of that 5 percent who could be useful to them, who had both the control and the temperament for fighting, and then they rode you hard, forging you into their weapon. He’d been Moreau’s wolf in the shadows, blood on his teeth and death in his wake until he’d left it all behind, letting the whispers become rumor and finally myth. All his life he’d been defined like that. He’d defined _himself_ like that.

But....

He remembered. Lying between them last night, their fingers tangling in his pelt, their voices low and pleading. The tremor in Hardison’s breath. The salt scent of Parker’s tears.

_You’re our Eliot_.

_We need you._

Parker tilted her head to rest on his shoulder, leaning her whole weight into him so he was pushed up against Hardison, and Hardison’s arm curled around his back, pulling him in. Wedged between them, surrounded by their warmth, he felt an old knot of tension inside him start to loosen. He wasn’t even all that annoyed when Hardison started rubbing at one of his ears. “Stop that,” he muttered anyway.

“But they’re so soft and fuzzy!” Hardison didn’t stop the petting. Eliot hadn’t really expected him too. Honestly, the man had no sense of boundaries.

“Why don’t you play with Parker’s ears instead?” he tried, then side-eyed Parker as she started scratching behind his other ear. And well, okay, that actually felt pretty good. When he tweaked at her long ear in not-really protest, the short fur was velvety under his fingers; he could feel the flutter of her pulse beneath the thin skin, the curve of her smile against his bare shoulder, and in spite of himself his mouth finally quirked up into a smile of his own. If his tail had been out, it would’ve been waving in mute happiness.

He was half tempted to let it wag.

_The rabbit sat up on her hind legs, gazing out across the moon-washed meadow. On the far side, shadowy trees billowed up against the sky, like clouds lying along the horizon. The breeze brought scents of damp earth and fresh greenery to her nose, whispers of waving grass to her perked and twitching ears._

_She thumped a back leg impatiently. After a moment, her ear swiveled to catch the sound of large paws padding up behind her. As the wolf reached her, he lowered his head; they sniffed at each other, and then she reared up and butted her nose against his, honking imperiously. He whuffed at her, his breath hot on her face, stirring her whiskers. Hopping aside, she rolled a last glance toward the man leaning up against the van, watching them with a smile. Then she sprang high into the air and bolted, dashing across the open field with the wolf racing beside her, into the freedom of the beautiful night._


End file.
